|| Inevitable ||

XIV

"For the painful essence of withdrawal does not reside in the present suffering it brings - withdrawal is painless on the level of the immediate moment - but in the prospect of suffering to come, the rich future that one can imagine one's torture enjoying."

Slap. "Snap out of it," I snarl at the mirror, my lip curling over my wet gums. "You are better than this." Raising my hand once more, I prepare myself for the next incoming blow to my face.

And yet this time I let my hand drop.

Instead, I stare hard at my reflection. "Listen, Kiara. You are going to go out there, get dressed, and you are going to live. Survive. Scratch your way out of here. Fuck," loosing a sharp breath from between my teeth, I grip the sides of the rectangular sink. "This is insane."

From behind the curtain of my damp hair, my narrowed eyes hone in on the frightened girl shuddering in the mirror world. "You," my lips wrap around the words forming in my head. "You are stronger than this; better than this. You are not allowed to crawl back into that dark place. Who cares if this is quite literally the most fucked up thing that has ever happened to you. You don't get to play the victim anymore. You are going to beat this and then run for it, and you will tear down anyone in your way."

I will tear down anyone in my way.

In the moments before this, upon hearing Rhyne announce my impending doom, I came to the realisation that I needed a reality check. So warped by the circumstances I was in, I had begun letting myself be determined by them; be controlled by them.

Not anymore.

With a towel secured firmly around my sopping form, I latched onto the granite bathroom bench with its stainless steel sink, and affirmed for myself the truths that I already knew. I was strong. I was brave. I was witty. I was confident. I was intelligent. I was skilled. I was going to keep on surviving.

I am going to keep on surviving.

Relinquishing my hold on the sink and standing back, my posture straight, I take calming breaths before striding over to the bathroom exit and throwing open the door. My toes curl into the spongey carpet, feeling it spring up as my feet leave the floor with each step forward.

I will pretend to be normal. Everything is normal. Rhyne is an ally; a way out. My worst nightmare is not going to be realised. I am going to be okay.

The positive phrases circle in my mind like decorative horses on a merry-go-round, twinkling in the carousel's lights. Not even the presence of Rhyne, as he slips into the room, can make those lights falter.

"I brought you some new underwear," he grumbles, hiding his face from my pointed gaze.

And just like that my face lights up with flames, though partly from anger and partly from embarrassment. I shoot him the dirtiest look in my arsenal. "So now that I'm with you, I'm your doll now, rather than his?"

Rhyne's eyebrows nearly launch of his face. He reaches for his chest, looking at me as if I just birthed a monster. "Kiara, what on earth did you just say to me?" 

I throw a pointed finger at the black ensemble laid on the bed. "You." My finger flies to his face. "Bought me that contraption," back to the underwear, "so you can lay some claim that I am yours. Is this what your sick family does? Tell me, does blood and gore ignite something deep inside you?"

"Jesus Christ, you're not a concubine." His hand goes to his face and slides down his profile. "I know," he begins tiredly, "that my son has treated you as though you were no better than our family dog. But you shouldn't feel too special about that, all his girls get the special treatment. Just be thankful you aren't a man, he might have neutered you by now."